Max Booth III<\/p>\n
I stumble into the waiting room with whiskey on my breath. I haven\u2019t shaved in over a week and it\u2019s showing. It\u2019s darker in here than outside — cooler, too — and if nothing else comes of this interview, at least I can find solace in beating the sun\u2019s bastard glare for an hour or so.<\/p>\n
Scanning the other actors, I can\u2019t help but smile: they\u2019re pathetic. All their sad, depressing business suits, their hair slicked back, teeth brushed, fingernails cut. This is a movie audition, not a courthouse for Christ\u2019s sake. Compared to everyone here, I might as well be a shoe-in: my ripped, crusty blue jeans; my sleeveless T-shirt covered in spaghetti stains; the hole in my Chuck Taylor\u2019s specially modified to allow breathing room for my big toe. The casting director is going to absolutely love me. This is what they want: this grimy scumbag look, this piece-of-shit, no-good-hobo look. Not some business man, prudish asshole look.<\/p>\n
This is going to be easy, I tell myself. This is going to be great.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a clipboard hanging predictability at the door and I sign my name at the bottom of the list in capital letters: GORY FELDMAN. Obviously it\u2019s not my real name but in the zombie business, you don\u2019t use real names. Real names are boring. If you think about it, it\u2019s rather similar to porn. You have your Demi Morgues, your Toby Magores, your Melt Gibsons, even your Arnold Corpseneggers. Of course I picked \u201cGory Feldman\u201d when I first came down here; I have always been of the opinion that The Lost Boys<\/em> is the greatest movie on earth. However, I have no comments on its sequel.<\/p>\n I walk down the line of chairs and sit at the very end, giving my feeble competitors another stare down. They have nothing on me. All these poor bastards, these yuppie assholes with their cell phones and wristwatches and health insurance and other things I can\u2019t afford, they\u2019re despicable. They think they\u2019ll get along just fine and do a little acting on the side. Where is their commitment? Where is their soul?<\/em><\/p>\n Me, I\u2019m committed. I\u2019m in it for the long haul. Back in Seattle, I had lost my apartment, my job, and my girlfriend. Of course, it didn\u2019t help that my girlfriend had been my landlord, and I was working as a maintenance man for the apartment complex. So it all kind of came down at once. Not to mention that my father died around then, too. Plus the local bookies kept going after my legs. It was high time to get the hell out of there, and what better place to go than Los Angeles? So I had hitchhiked from Washington with the clothes on my back, a pocketful of change and an acoustic guitar I have no knowledge of playing whatsoever. And boy, do I strum the shit out of that instrument on every random street corner I come across. Sure, I don\u2019t know how to play, but I can certainly fake it enough to con the good, ignorant folks of L.A. into handing over their Starbucks change.<\/p>\n I\u2019m leaning back in the plastic little chair, tapping my foot on the rug and contemplating stepping outside for a quick smoke break when the door to outside opens. My foot stops tapping immediately. Three tall, buff-as-hell men come shambling in, their faces covered with incredibly expensive looking zombie masks. The red corn syrup on them is like pus dripping from recently popped boils. These aren\u2019t the kind of masks you buy at your average Halloween costume shop. Nah, these are top quality, Tom Savini-crafted masterpieces.<\/p>\n Of course I know who they are. Around these parts, everybody does. The Three Bloody Tears are only the most notorious zombie cameo group in the entirety of Hollywood. If you needed a couple ghouls to do your movie dirty work, then you went to them. They are the best. Or so it was known. Personally, I thought they were just three assholes who didn\u2019t know when to stop. These bastards have been taking jobs out from under me since I moved down here.<\/p>\n I watch in disbelief as two of the zombies sit down while the remaining one prances toward the clipboard, merrily signing their names as crimson slobber spills down his mouth. Half the waiting room gets up and leaves almost immediately, sighing and cursing.<\/p>\n I might as well give up before I humiliate myself, too. There\u2019s no way I\u2019m getting the job now. Son of a bitch. It just isn\u2019t fair. How many more times will these bastards steal work from me? It\u2019s never going to end. With them around, I\u2019ll have to finally buckle down and get an actual job.<\/p>\n No. Hell no. I can\u2019t let that happen. Not if I want to eat next week. Not if I want a bed to sleep in.<\/p>\n I leap to my feet and storm over to them. They\u2019re just sitting there all nonchalant and decomposing.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the hell\u2019s wrong with you guys?\u201d I shout at them. \u201cAre you really so selfish that you have to hog every single goddamn movie? Don\u2019t you realize there are other people trying to make an undead living out here? You fucking assholes!\u201d<\/p>\n The middle zombie just cocks his head to the side like a confused dog and responds in the most empathetic tone: \u201cWhhraaallg?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJesus Christ,\u201d I mutter. \u201cIt\u2019s like talking to a fucking zombie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAwwrrooog!\u201d the one on the left exclaims.<\/p>\n \u201cNo!\u201d I yell at them, pointing my index finger as if I\u2019m the master and they\u2019ve just defecated on the carpet. \u201cYou sons of bitches are not<\/em> doing this to me again! You think you\u2019re so funny, don\u2019t you? Well, I\u2019ve had enough! Rent is due in a week and GUESS WHAT? I\u2019m going to be able to pay it this time! You are not taking this from me again, you bastards!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHerroouuggrr!\u201d the one on the right laughs.<\/p>\n Laughs!<\/em> I can\u2019t believe this. Here I am, telling them what\u2019s what and this fucker just stares into my face and laughs.<\/em> I know then that there\u2019s only one option left, one way of beating these bastards once and for all. Somehow, someway, I\u2019ll have to out zombie them. Then we\u2019ll see who\u2019s laughing.<\/p>\n \u201cTHEN WE\u2019LL SEE!\u201d I scream manically and stomp off into the public bathroom.<\/p>\n God, I\u2019m so angry, so pissed, I could just kill something! Storming back and forth in the lavatory, I tell myself I don\u2019t have much time before they call my name; if I\u2019m going to do something, I better do it now.<\/p>\n But what?<\/p>\n My current attire doesn\u2019t even come close in comparing to those damn gory glory hogs. I\u2019m screwed. So screwed. How am I supposed to zombify myself in a goddamn public bathroom without even any makeup?<\/p>\n The only answer I can think of is I\u2019ll go for gritty realism. I\u2019ll have to be experimental. I\u2019ll have to be edgy. This is the new way and I\u2019m going to embrace it hardcore.<\/p>\n So what do zombies look like? Well, their throats are usually torn out, but that\u2019s out of the question. So what else? Blood. Gore. Violence.<\/p>\n Running my hands through my hair in front of the bathroom mirror, I notice the dirt crusted under my fingernails and I get a beautiful, insane idea. I smile and immediately frown. I must really be desperate. Jesus.<\/p>\n Sliding the nail of my left index finger in between the faucet knob, I hold my breath and close my eyes, thinking a short prayer before slamming my right fist down upon my other hand, snapping the nail off the lunula in one rough instantaneous motion. Tiny drops of blood squirt from my finger as I jerk back in pain.<\/p>\n Progress. No matter how stupid and painful it might be, it\u2019s still progress. But it\u2019s nowhere near enough. What else? Think, man, think!<\/p>\n \u201cGory Feldman? Calling a \u2018Gory Feldman\u2019\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n The voice outside is calling me. They won\u2019t wait long. Another thirty seconds tops before they move on to the next name. Before they move on to the Three Bloody Tears. Fuck, fuck, fuck.<\/p>\n I\u2019m out of time. God, just do something! Don\u2019t think, just act! Looking down at the sink, I sigh. Aw, to hell with it. This might be the most idiotic thing that has ever crossed my mind, and boy is that saying a lot.<\/p>\n \u201cGory Feldman \u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n Goddammit.<\/p>\n My brain turns off. My mouth opens wide. Eyes closed, I strike my face down with immense intensity, my teeth shattering against the porcelain sink, my mouth exploding at once.<\/p>\n Jesus Jesus Jesus oh Jesus Jesus what the fuck what the fuck<\/p>\n My vision is too blurred by tears to see at first, but as it clears I\u2019m able to make out a pile of blood and tears in the sink. My head in convulsing. Jesus. Oh Christ, what is wrong with me? I slowly back away from the mirror, refusing to look at my reflection; globs of blood drop down from my mouth and splatter against the piss-stained linoleum at my feet.<\/p>\n \u201cFak!\u201d I cry out, praying I don\u2019t choke on my own teeth. Oh, why would I do this? Why the fuck would I do this?<\/p>\n \u201cGory Feldman! Last call for a Gory Feldman \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Well there\u2019s no reason to let my stupidity go to waste. I sure look the part. This is real blood falling from my face! They\u2019d be fools to not hire me!<\/p>\n But why does it have to hurt so much?<\/p>\n I exit the bathroom and bump into a small plump woman with glasses; she leaps back and screams at the sight of me.<\/p>\n \u201cYou \u2026 you Gory \u2026?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n \u201cYa, \u2018hat\u2019s \u2018ee,\u201d I reply, a string of blood dripping down my chin.<\/p>\n \u201cWell. Uh. Follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEh!\u201d I exclaim, grabbing the woman by the shoulder and nearly scaring the literal shit out of her.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat!?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Ow or \u2018ast \u2018ombi?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHuh?\u201d<\/p>\n I spit out a chunk of blood into a rectangular aquarium placed on the waiting desk and very carefully ask, \u201cSlow or fast zombie?\u201d<\/p>\n The woman nods. \u201cFast, of course. This is the remake of Dawn of the Dead,<\/em> after all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Eeake? Uh?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, you heard me. We\u2019re remaking the remake of Dawn of the Dead.<\/em> Personally, I\u2019m not for the idea, but it is the season of remakes, unfortunately. Oh what the hell!? Please don\u2019t spit teeth at me, sir. That\u2019s highly uncalled for!\u201d<\/p>\n I apologize as she leads me toward the door, noticing the Three Bloody Tears slumped in their chairs, waiting for their own turn. You really couldn\u2019t ask for a more challenging competition. They\u2019re the bee\u2019s knees of Zombiwood. The sight of my \u201ccostume\u201d makes their blood-crusted jaws drop. They can\u2019t believe it. Neither can I. They know that for once they\u2019re not going to get the role. They know they\u2019ve finally lost. I\u2019m the winner here, not them. To further prove it, I make a quick jacking off gesture at them and smile as their jaws drop even further.<\/p>\n I enter the auditioning room. Nothing unique about it, really, just an average size room with a desk at the far end, occupied by a couple of casting directors. The woman sits down with them and, wiping my spit off her, tells me to go ahead.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Otivaon?\u201d I ask. Motivation.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re a zombie,\u201d the man next to her says. \u201cAct like one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh \u2026 \u2018ight,\u201d I mumble, and elevate my arms even with my chest. Just like Frankenstein\u2019s monster. \u201c\u2019Raaaiiissssss \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cZombies don\u2019t talk!\u201d the man bellows at me, quite upset.<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Ight, \u2018ight \u2026\u201d I struggle back my nerves. Man, don\u2019t blow this now. You\u2019ve already done too much. Come on, you can do this!<\/em><\/p>\n Clearing my plasmatic throat, I begin to perform a series of quick dashes back and forth — suicides — along the carpet. As I move, my cheeks shake crazily like some sort of retarded Saint Bernard, particles of blood splashing against various locations among the auditioning room. My confidence is returning. I mime biting an invisible pedestrian on the neck, eating their phantom flesh and enjoying every taste. I sprint around the room like a rabid animal, growling ferociously and showing off my horrendous grin. The judges must be really digging me. The movie role is mine!<\/p>\n But I\u2019m nearly out of breath when I notice their faces: disappointment, pure disappointment. I stop in my tracks and attempt to ask what\u2019s wrong.<\/p>\n \u201cWell\u2026\u201d the man starts, \u201cI don\u2019t think you\u2019re what we\u2019re looking for.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Hat!?\u201d I shriek.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you see, uh, Susan here has just informed me that the Three Bloody Tears are outside waiting on us, and, uh, well, you\u2019ve seen them before. They\u2019re the best. I\u2019m afraid we just can\u2019t afford to pass on these fellas. Your performance was solid, though. Nice makeup. Maybe next time, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNO! NO! NO!\u201d I grimace. This can\u2019t be happening. It can\u2019t!<\/p>\n I punch the wall next to me and let out a groan. What a bullshit day this has turned out to be. There\u2019s no way I\u2019m going to be able to pay off the hospital bills that I will undoubtedly receive for my jaw. God, what an idiot. What a stupid, no-good piece of shit moron.<\/p>\n Then it hits me.<\/p>\n What if this is some sort of test? A test to see how compassionate I am. It\u2019s a tough call, that\u2019s for sure, but I\u2019m almost willing to bet that this is a test. It all makes sense. There\u2019s no way any sane man would reject my amazingly zombified face.<\/p>\n So the question is, what would a zombie do next?<\/p>\n The answer, well, is obvious.<\/p>\n \u201cRrraaaaa!\u201d I roar and charge toward the table, leaping over it and tackling the casting director to the ground.<\/p>\n \u201cAhh, what the hell!?\u201d he screams. \u201cSusan, call the goddamn police!\u201d<\/p>\n I begin to wonder if maybe this isn\u2019t that good of an idea after all.<\/p>\n I tear my grizzly face away from the director and look down at his mangled throat. Gore and blood\u2019s spraying everywhere, all over my own face. The man is crying his eyes out, making it all the more obvious that I haven\u2019t done what he intended, and I decide to get the hell out of here before I do anymore damage.<\/p>\n Somehow, I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve gotten the job.<\/p>\n Hightailing it out of the building, I make sure to give those zombie bastards the middle finger before leaving.<\/p>\n Wobbling along the sidewalk, trying to retrieve some sense of normal balance, I hear the sound of sirens. Police sirens. How did they get here so fast?<\/p>\n \u201cHey, stop right there!\u201d someone behind me screams. No doubt a cop. \u201cPut your hands up goddammit!\u201d<\/p>\n Ha-ha, yeah, like I\u2019m going to do that.<\/p>\n Blood is still leaking steadily out of my mouth as I sprint across the road, thinking, I gotta get to the hospital<\/em>. Thinking, I don\u2019t want to go to jail, either.<\/em><\/p>\n Then I find myself turning a corner and colliding right into some woman pushing a stroller, sending both of us sprawling along the pavement. I watch in horror as the baby comes tumbling out, falling toward the hard ground.<\/p>\n Fortunately, I use my super quick zombie speed and catch the baby literally centimeters from the ground. I stand up, cradling it in my arms as it screams its little precious head off. The mother still lies on the ground, muscles tensed and nervous as all hell, staring at me with such fright. \u201cGive me back my baby,\u201d she says. \u201cPlease, I\u2019ll do whatever you want.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d I mumble, blood spilling out of my mouth and landing on the baby\u2019s little blue onesie.<\/p>\n She screams. \u201cYou freak! You monster! You fucking zombie freak!\u201d Then she shoots to her feet and skedaddles across the street into a doughnut shop, abandoning her baby altogether, making me wonder if perhaps she isn\u2019t the greatest mother in the world.<\/p>\n Zombie.<\/p>\n She had called me a zombie.<\/p>\n I raise the baby up at eyelevel and grin stupidly. \u201cDidjer \u2018ear \u2018hat? See \u2018ad I\u2019s a \u2018ombie!\u201d I exclaim, drippling more blood on the baby\u2019s cheeks. It\u2019s okay though, it\u2019s not like I have some kind of disease or anything. Still, I probably should avoid doing that again.<\/p>\n A zombie \u2026<\/p>\n Then it hits me.<\/p>\n The woman screaming I\u2019m a zombie, the cop chasing me, the frightened cast directors. This is all still my audition! The moviemakers have set all of this up to determine whether or not I was zombie enough for the big leagues. And boy, I\u2019m thinking I sure proved I am.<\/p>\n I tilt my head and discover a camera attached to the side of a red traffic light. Bingo! They\u2019re watching me right now, those sly bastards. Boy, they really scared me.<\/p>\n But it\u2019s going to be worth it. Oh, yes.<\/p>\n I carefully place the blood-spattered baby back in its stroller, give it a few tickles under its adorable red chin, and turn around. I know I\u2019ve gotten the part now; there\u2019s no doubt about it this time.<\/p>\n Then it hits me.<\/p>\n There\u2019s still one final test. One that I\u2019ve maybe already failed. What zombie in their right dead mind would flee from a police officer? Hell no, that\u2019s not the zombie way! A real zombie would attack! It would stand its ground!<\/p>\n Lowering my head in a very similar fashion of a rhino (a zombie <\/em>rhino!), I charge down the street toward the approaching police officer. His threats of firing his weapon are very impressive; he\u2019s quite believable. He\u2019s so convincing I can\u2019t help but wonder if he\u2019s going to be in the actual movie. God, it\u2019s such a rarity to audition alongside another actor. They must really see great things in me!<\/p>\n \u201cGoddammit, you zombie punk, stop right now!\u201d the cop screams.<\/p>\n Then it hits me.<\/p>\n Having recently moved to Texas, MAX BOOTH is really trying his best not to make fun of the redneck agenda that surrounds the state. He instead spends his time writing stories and burning his hand on his toaster oven, which he secretly believes is just playing hard to get. You may contact him at madd_maxxx3@yahoo.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Max Booth III I stumble into the waiting room with whiskey on my breath. I haven\u2019t shaved in over a week and it\u2019s showing. It\u2019s darker in here than outside — cooler, too — and if nothing else comes of … Continue reading